


The Prisoner

by mannybothans



Series: Shameless Smut Shorts [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Play, Canon-Typical Violence, Dirty Talk, F/M, Mark of Cain, Men of Letters Bunker, Pain Kink, Season/Series 10 Spoilers, Smut, alternate ending s10e22, biting kink, moc!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 03:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15355431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mannybothans/pseuds/mannybothans
Summary: Reader is called to help with curing Dean of the Mark but things quickly go awry.





	1. Chapter 1

“Dean! Stop it! Stop!” You wailed as Castiel grabbed Dean from behind and Dean smashed his head back into Cas’s nose. “This isn’t you! Dean!”

Before you could move, Dean had Castiel on the floor next to the pile of books. You knew he was feeling the influence of the Mark even more, ever since Charlie died. Revenge and blood lust were the only things on his mind and you couldn’t stand seeing what the Mark was doing to him. You hadn’t seen Dean in years – probably around six or seven – but Sam, having exhausted all other ideas, called you in, hoping to use your presence as a grounding effect.

Despite your gut telling you to run the other way, to not meddle in the affairs of the Winchesters, you came. Sam was desperate and though they’d started the apocalypse, gotten caught between Angels and Demons, and basically fucked up again and again, here you were. Right in the middle of it, now.

As if in slow motion, Dean raised Castiel’s blade and you started backing up the stairs, unable to tear your eyes away from Dean about to murder his friend. You could see Castiel’s lips moving, pleading with Dean not to do it, and you knew if Dean killed Cas, then it was all over for you.

So why weren’t you running like hell?

The blade came down into a book next to Cas’s head and Dean got up, his eyes cold and calculating with his mouth set in a hard line of restraint.

The heel of your boot caught on the top step and you fell; Dean’s eyes immediately sought you out and they narrowed. He took a deep breath, fists clenched at his sides, and before you could get through the metal door at the top of the stairs, he was half-way up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

You threw your body weight into the door and it gave. You turned and tried to slam it shut but Dean was already there and the Mark had made him so much stronger than normal. A low growl came from his throat and he shoved the door open, striding through as you stumbled backwards, desperate to stay out of his grasp.

“Dean, please!” You breathed, panic evident in your voice and on your face. “Please don’t. You can control this. You can control the Mark,” you panted, backing away from him and around the Impala, your eyes never leaving him.

His eyes locked onto you as he stalked you around the car like a cat chasing its prey. His gaze was chilling and made your blood run cold. The adrenaline coursing through your veins was almost audible and it was taking everything within you to not shake like a leaf. You made it around the back end of the Impala and made a run for it, unsure if you could lose him the bunker but willing to take that bet until Sam could get there.

Your fingertips brushed the door as his arms locked around your waist, hauling you off your feet and spinning you around, away from potential salvation. You kicked and squirmed, his firm chest against your back and solid arms around your waist, tightening painfully. A sob tore from your throat as you came to the realization that Dean Winchester was going to kill you.

He took you back inside the bunker, throwing you over his shoulder and holding you tightly as he clomped heavily down the stairs. Wide-eyed, you sought out Castiel and saw he’d already escaped. At least there was that. At least Castiel could get to Sam and they could find the cure for the Mark. That was what was important. If you could keep Dean occupied – even if he was carving you to pieces – so they could cure him, you’d at least die feeling useful. Panic subsided into acceptance and you openly cried, now, slung over the shoulder of someone who was a victim of circumstance and fate.

He had no choice, really, in the life he was handed. From before Dean was born, he was fated to lead the fight of good versus evil – except everyone thought he’d be the Good One and Sam would be the Evil One. You cried for the Dean you used to know – optimistic and full of charm, always out to save who he could. You cried for Sam Winchester – the little brother who had no choice in his lot, either, having been fed Demon’s blood at six months of age and having his fate written for him by Hell itself. You cried for Castiel and the other angels who were led astray by those who wanted to create paradise on Earth – with or without humans. You cried for everyone Dean had ever saved, just to see him turn into a demon and back into a human who was slowly dying from the curse he’d taken upon himself.

You cried because Dean Winchester always felt the burden of saving the world on his shoulders and now that same burden was your doom.

Dean took you down the winding halls and you sniffed, trying to control the snot running out of your nose. You didn’t need to look utterly pathetic as he killed you. He finally set you down on a hard metal chair and your fight-or-flight response was dampened by a single glance from his cold, hard eyes. Chains clinked as he restrained you to the chair and you tried to take deep breaths to calm down.

He reached out and you flinched away from his hand, squeezing your eyes shut tight. Another sob erupted from you when you felt his rough thumb brush your tear-stained cheek, removing some of the moisture. You wanted to beg for your life, to plead with him, but you knew it was no use. The Mark wasn’t satiated – it wanted blood and death. Your death.

“Hey,” he rasped as he bent down, his hands braced on his thighs so he was eye-level with you. It was the first thing he’d said since trying to kill Castiel. “Look at me.”

You lifted your eyes after a moment of hesitation, drawing them up over the familiar plaid shirt to the face that you remembered as having the most dashing smile and sparkling green eyes, all complemented by tanned skin and freckles. His skin was a deathly pallor and he looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. Dark circles sat under his eyes and his lip still had blood drying on it. He’d since wiped his nose, smearing the blood more than wiping it away. You wanted to reach up and touch him and reassure him that he would be cured, soon, if Sam could act quickly. His full lips were cracked and dry and his tongue darted out to wet them.

“There ya are,” he grimaced, rather than smiled. “Where’s Sam?”

“I don’t know,” you croaked, truthfully.

“Tsk,” Dean lifted a hand and held your chin between his index finger and thumb, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t lie to me, sweetheart.” He reached behind his back with his free hand and pulled a knife out of his waistband.

“Dean, please,” you whispered, hating that you were sounding like a broken record.

“You know what I need. You know what the Mark needs.” You watched his jaw clench and the veins on his forearms stood out as the Mark’s need for destruction pulsed through him. “I don’t know if I can stop this time,” he ground out.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, tears spilling down your cheeks again. “Just get it over with,” you whispered and closed your eyes. “Do what you have to.”

The cold of the blade pressed against your throat and you winced, waiting for the pain of it slicing through the thin flesh there. You kept your eyes closed but you could hear his deep breathing and feel his hesitation.

“Dean,” you tried again, opening your eyes as the blade didn’t sink into your jugular. “You’re not the Mark. You’re a good person. You… you’ve saved the world and I’m sorry. I’m sorry you were burdened with this curse. You didn’t deserve any of this. You should have settled down and married and started a family of your own years ago. I wish I could take all of this away from you. I wish I could take your place.” You had no idea what had gotten into you – maybe it was the need for last words or the need to make sure Dean knew he was still loved. Your eyes found his again and you saw something there, something that wasn’t the Mark. Just as quickly, though, it was gone.

And surprisingly, he withdrew the knife and stood up. His fists went to his hair and he pulled it, turning away from you and pacing. It killed you to see him so conflicted and distraught. Just as you exhaled in relief, thinking you were in the clear, he spun back around to you and pushed the sharp edge of the blade into your cheek. A warm trickle of blood coursed down, following the path of your tears, and his eyes locked onto it. Your eyes squeezed shut again as a ragged breath made your entire torso shudder.

Suddenly, something soft replaced the cold kiss of steel. Soft and warm was followed by warm and wet and you could have sworn Dean was licking the blood off your face. Shocked, you stayed rigidly still, unsure of what was happening. His lips moved down to your jaw as he kissed the trail of blood and tears and then his lips were on your pulse point on the side of your neck. His teeth gently scraped your skin as his tongue lapped up the small trickle of blood and you couldn’t help it – a soft moan escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Dean froze and pulled away; you swallowed, hard, waiting for next cut from the knife. His hands settled on your shoulders, the blade handle still in his right. “Y/N?” You shook your head slowly, eyes opening but focused on your lap.

“Sorry,” you whispered. “I… I didn’t mean to.”

He grunted in response and his hands pushed your over shirt off your shoulders, down to your elbows. Your lap became blurry as more tears threatened to escape your eyes. The cold steel bit into your upper arm and you refused to whimper as fresh blood ran down your arm. Dean held the knife above a point just next to that but his lips and tongue were on the red trail before he could cut into you again. You gasped at how warm his mouth was and how surprised you were that he seemed more interested in consuming your blood than just watching you bleed.

“You taste…” he trailed off as he sank to his knees. “Christ. You taste so good.”

Your mind whirled with how gravelly his voice was. You’d imagined him saying that to you under very different circumstances – once upon a time – but the effect still lit a fire inside of you. “Dean, please,” you tried again.

It was too late. The knife cut into your chest, just under your collarbone, and he watched the blood lazily ooze out and down before he leaned in and pushed his lips and tongue against your skin. Goosebumps rose on your flesh and you bit back another moan as his tongue flicked below the neckline of your tank top. You finally looked at his face, confused at how enraptured he was with the blood dripping down your chest. His tongue licked a trail from your cleavage to your collarbone and he sighed contentedly. It was erotic and bizarre and it was having an effect on you that you weren’t sure what to make of.

His teeth sunk into the top of your breast before you could make heads or tails of what was happening and you cried out, partly in pleasure and partly in pain.

His eyes snapped up to your face and you felt your neck and cheeks redden. His lips curved into a semblance of a smirk. “Never knew you liked it rough,” Dean said just before he bit you again.

Another cry tore itself from your lips and you gasped when his tongue delved back into your cleavage. You went from being entirely positive that he was going to kill you to feeling once more that you were his prey and he was merely toying with you. “Dean…” you breathed out as his hands gripped your thighs. You didn’t know what to say.

His smirk faded and his head bowed as his fingertips painfully dug into the meat of your thighs. He groaned, a grimace twisting his features. Your heart beat faster, unsure if he was fighting against the Mark. You winced at the pressure of his fingers and then just as suddenly, he was across the room, running a hand down his face and pacing again.

You wanted desperately to ask what was going on and what he was thinking of but you were terrified he’d be back in an instant and your life would be ended.

Dean let out a frustrated groan yet again and punched the metal wall before he dropped the knife. He sank into a chair behind a metal table and held his head in his hands. A sound that was much too similar to a sob escaped his mouth and you lowered your gaze to your lap again. Several moments passed and he stood up again, his eyes boring into you.

“I can’t,” he said, shaking his head. Your gaze lifted to him and you absently licked your lips. There was a deep-seated hunger in his eyes and it was terrifying. “I can’t control this.” He added.


	2. Chapter 2

“You can,” you fired back. “You are. Dean just… breathe.”

He shook his head and came back over to you. He produced the keys to the chains and stepped behind you. You swallowed, confused, and waited until the weight of the metal links was gone before you moved.

“Go.” He choked out. “Now.”

You stood up on shaky legs and rubbed your wrists, half-turning towards him. “Maybe I should,”

“Go!” He bellowed, cutting off your train of thought.

You flinched away and headed for the door on unsure feet. You turned towards him once more to see him throw the chair clear across the room. When he realized you were still standing there, he closed the distance between the two of you and shoved you against the door frame, his hand tight around your neck.

“Don’t give me your pity,” he muttered. “Just go.”

“Dean,” you wheezed, “your hand.”

As if snapping from a trance, Dean’s eyes went from yours to his hand around your neck and he loosened his grip just enough for you to take a deep breath. He still didn’t let go, though. Your heart pounded and you found yourself wondering why you didn’t just take the exit when he gave it to you. _Oh, right, I’m buying Sam time to get the cure_ , you remembered dejectedly. Dean’s upper lip twisted into a snarl and he finally let go of your neck but caged you in with his arms on either side of your shoulders. Something inside of you broke and you reached up, gently caressing his cheek. His eyes closed and he leaned into your touch, his brow furrowing.

“Go,” he choked out between clenched teeth.

You dropped your hand and leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips even though your body was screaming at you to run. Dean pulled away as if he hadn’t just spent several minutes bathing your skin with his tongue. He pulled his lip between his teeth for a moment and you made to duck under his arm and finally leave. You made it two steps before his hand grabbed your arm and yanked you back, shoving you against the door frame again as his body pressed against you and his mouth crashed into yours.

Your eyes went wide before they closed; his mouth opened and yours followed suit, letting his tongue in to slide against yours. The tang of copper lingered in his mouth. You moaned softly as his hands found the backs of your thighs and he lifted you up, guiding your legs around his hips. Once your ankles were crossed behind him, he shoved his hips into you, his hands moving to hold your ass as he kissed you furiously.

Your mind reeled and started shutting down quickly, unable to process everything that you’d seen and felt in the past couple hours. You whimpered into his mouth and he groaned in response. You felt his shoulders soften, like the weight of the world was suddenly lifted, as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Your hands slid up the back of his neck and into his hair and he groaned again, full of need and want. The heat you’d felt earlier when he was licking you grew exponentially as he ground his hips into you. When you pulled away from his delicious lips, you did it slowly and regretfully. His eyes opened and he stared into yours. A conversation occurred between the two of you without either one saying a word and then he was walking back down the halls, with you still clinging to his shoulders and your legs tightening around his hips.

Before he could even open his dorm room door, his mouth was passionately attached to yours again. He only broke when he set you down on the floor next to his bed. As soon as your feet hit the floor, his hands started pulling your clothes off, item by item. Within moments, you were completely naked and laying back on his bed, your legs splayed open and waiting for him.

The look he gave you as his eyes raked over your body felt like your skin was on fire and made your heart pound. His hands grasped your knees as he knelt on the bed between your feet, then they slid slowly down your thighs. He licked his lips and you took a steadying breath. Before you could sit up and kiss him again, he bent down and bit your left thigh. It was soft, at first, and then the bites got harder as he moved up your thighs towards the apex.

“Ow! Dean!” You hissed as he left an imprint of his teeth on the inside of your left thigh. He didn’t apologize or even look up at you, he just did it again on your right thigh. You cried out again but your pain was short-lived as he shoved two of his thick fingers into your already-wet hole, filling you and ripping a moan from your chest.

At this point, he finally looked up at you. His fingers pumped lazily in and out of you and he moved, stretching himself above you so his face was at your neck. He licked your pulse point and then blew air on it, watching the goose bumps rise. “So fuckin’ wet for me, huh?” He murmured against your neck and you shivered. All you could manage in response was a wrecked moan. “Mm, say my name, sweetheart.”

You  wanted to – God, did you want to. But his fingers curled and began hitting that spot inside of you relentlessly. “De-AAah! Oh God!”

“Try again,” he rasped as he bit into your neck.

It wasn’t fair. You wanted to scream his name but each time you started to, he’d do something else that would drag it out into an unintelligible moan. He shifted his weight and his fingers pistoned even harder into your wet, hot core. “De-OHhhhh! Please!”

“You better say it before you come,” he said just before licking your ear.

You were close to the edge and he knew it. He was thrusting his fingers with some effort, now, due to how tight you’d gotten. His thumb found your clit and rubbed lazy circles around it, adding to your pleasure. You moaned again; it was too much.

“Say it,” he urged, his face over yours now and his eyes watching your face contort with pleasure as he brought you up to and over that precipice.

Your eyes rolled back as the knot of heat in your core exploded and made you clench around his fingers, pulsing and throbbing with your orgasm. “Deeaaaaannnn! Ohhh God!” You managed to scream his name in a sort of sob of release. It must have been good enough for him because he covered your mouth with his for a moment before you started coming back down.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he mumbled against your lips before he sat back on his heels and peeled his plaid shirt off. His plain black tee underneath was tight and well-fitted. He tossed both to the floor and unbuckled his belt, then pushed his jeans off his hips. Your eyes were drawn to his tented boxer briefs before he hastily shoved those down, too. They were pushed down far enough to free his erection and no further.

Your eyes widened at the sight of him. He was… impressive. His hand wrapped around himself and stroked a couple of times before he leaned forward again and nudged the tip of his cock at your entrance. You thought, briefly, to ask for a condom, but decided against it as he slid into you, made all the easier by how wet you were.

“Fuck,” you gasped and grabbed onto his shoulders. Once he was seated inside of you, he brought his hand up and shoved his fingers that were still coated in your slick into your mouth. You licked and sucked them clean without hesitating and Dean groaned in response. His hips pulled back and twitched forward once, twice, three times, without waiting for you to get accustomed to his size. “Oh my God, you feel so good,” you panted between moans.

Dean only grunted in reply as he licked his bottom lip and shifted his weight onto his left elbow. His right hand slid under your hip and tilted it up ever so slightly as his thrusts picked up pace. You had imagined what he would look like on top of you when he wasn’t cursed; despite the dark circles under his eyes, the cuts and bruises, and the paleness of his skin, you were glad the reality measured up to your fantasies. You watched his face as he concentrated on sinking into you just enough before pulling out again. His eyes were closed and his brow was furrowed as he panted.

“Dean,” you moaned. His eyes fluttered open, as if he’d forgotten where he was or what he was doing. You were hoping they would be the clear green you remembered, but they were still cold and had a faraway look to them. As you brought a knee up to rest against his hip, he sat up and collected your legs together, holding your ankles tightly against his shoulder. The new angle allowed him to push deeper into you and you both groaned at how tight you were with your legs closed. He watched himself thrust in and out of you, his hips snapping at a moderate pace. He wasn’t rushing but he certainly wasn’t taking his time. Your face flushed while you watched his – enraptured with how he looked sinking into you over and over again. “Fuck,” you breathed when he lifted your ankles just a little more and began to drag against your g-spot with every thrust. “Oh, fuck, Dean.”

“Mm, that feel good?” He seemed to remember there was an entire body attached to your lower half and his eyes slowly trailed up to your face, taking in the slight jiggle of your stomach and the bounce of your breasts before he locked onto your gaze.

“Yes,” you whispered.

“You gonna come for me again?”

“Yes,” you cried out as he slammed into you.

You broke your gaze from his and watched his body, still toned and mostly firm, move against yours. It was almost enough to make you come right then and there.

His lower lip curled in and his upper teeth held it there for several seconds before his jaw dropped and he let out a guttural groan that sent shockwaves through your body.

“Don’t stop, Dean, please,” you begged, knowing his release was close.

“Come on, baby,” he urged. His eyes found yours again and you found it impossible to look away as he stared right into your soul with those cold, pale green eyes. “Let go,” he grunted, panting harder now as he worked to push into your tightening folds.

You did. You let go and came again, Dean Winchester following close behind. Your scream of pleasure mostly drowned out his groan as he started to come inside of you and then finished on your thigh when your spasms forced him out.

“Shit,” he panted as he let go of your ankles and collapsed next to you.

You laid there in awe, your brain trying to process the fact Dean Winchester almost killed you but ended up fucking you, instead. You had no idea if this was all due to the curse of the Mark, if he had feelings for you, or if he just wanted to fuck. You didn’t want to ask. After this was all over and Sam found the cure, you’d return to your life and try to forget the Winchesters existed.

His touch brought you out of your thoughts as he cupped your breast and brushed his thumb over the nipple, watching it harden. You bit your lip, unsure what to say or do. His fingertips grasped your nipple and tweaked it, eliciting a gasp from you. Dean shifted and slid closer to you; his lips found your jaw and then your mouth and he kissed you again. You thought you would die happy if it was while Dean Winchester was kissing you.

But you were unsure how long the Mark would let this peace last. A cursory glance around his room earlier told you that you had to go for the lamp on his bedside table. You prayed it wasn’t bolted down as your arm slowly stretched behind you, blindly reaching for the only weapon you had.

The panic you’d felt earlier was almost entirely gone when his hand slid up your chest and rested against your throat. He knew you liked a little roughness, now, and you figured maybe he was getting ready to go again. Any way to kill time, you thought. His tongue pushed into your mouth and you moaned softly, opening for him. His hand put more pressure on your neck and you still pushed down the edge of panic that came with the restriction of your air passage.

Your hand finally wrapped around the stem of the lamp and you lifted it, cursing your decision to get entangled with the Winchesters again. Dean’s hand started applying more pressure to your throat and you knew you had to act quickly.

He flicked his tongue across your lips as he pulled away and stared down at you. He was damaged, sure, but he was still so beautiful and your heart ached for him. You opened your mouth to tell him that he was going to be okay when his hand tightened further around your neck. It was now or never and you swung the heavy art deco lamp right into the side of his head.

It knocked him out and you choked out a sob as you slid away from him. You gathered your clothes and bolted, unsure of how long he’d be out. Once you reached the steps leading into the main areas of the bunker, you pulled your pants and shirts on, shoved your underwear and bra into a boot and sprinted up the stairs and into the garage. Your bike waited patiently for you, the keys still in the ignition. You shoved your boots into the saddle bag, tugged on your helmet, and cranked the motor to life. The bike rumbled under you as you sped away from the bunker, from Dean and Sam Winchester, and possibly even the hunting life in general.

Tears rolled down your face as your heart clenched and your stomach roiled with anxiety. Twenty minutes down the road, you pulled over and ripped your helmet off, vomiting into the grass. Once you’d gotten your bearings, you pulled your boots out of the bag and slid them on, tucking your under things back into the bag. You just wanted to get far, far away as quickly as possible. God help the Winchesters.


End file.
